I love George Clooney. He is handsome, smart and funny. He cares about humanity and the world, not just the things that are happening in his neighborhood. I don’t know him, but I am quite certain he is perfect and there is only one thing that could make him better.
The single thing that could make Mr. Clooney better, would be if he were an astronaut. Space is fascinating, and I am in awe of NASA and those who work in this field. If my beloved George were an astronaut it might put me over the edge and require a restraining order.
Gabrielle Giffords hit the jackpot with Mark Kelly and he may trump George in terms of the perfect man. The more I learn about Gabrielle and Mark the more I love them, and am inspired by their love. The picture of Mark holding her hand in the hospital is lovely.
The pictures are not of an astronaut holding the hand of a Congresswoman. They are of a man holding the hand of his wife, through good times and bad, in sickness and in health. She is hanging on and fighting hard and I imagine he is a big part of that. Their love will help heal her and that is special.
Mark and Gabrielle have been married three years. This wonderful man, who goes to space for a living, inscribed in his wife’s wedding band,” You’re the closest to heaven that I have ever been.” It’s official, George Clooney is bumped to 2nd place. Mark Kelly is simply perfection.
As a woman who is dating and looking for love, I am now searching for a “Mark Kelly type”. Are there a lot of single Jewish astronauts? Giffords is Jewish and Kelly is not so maybe there is a lesson there. I love how he loves her and I want that for myself. How hard can it be?
I had a date last week with a guy we’ll call “Mike”. Not only was he not an astronaut, I don’t imagine he would now what NASA was. We met for a drink and he seemed nice, until the waiter came. I ordered a drink and called the waiter “honey”. That was the beginning of the end.
When the waiter brought my drink over, I said, “Thanks Sweetie”. If you know me, you know that I call everyone Sweetie or Honey. It’s just how I roll. Well Mike was having none of it. He asked me if I knew the waiter, I told him I did not, and he asked why I kept flirting with him.
Dear Lord. I told him I was not flirting and would have called the waiter Sweetie even if it were a woman. He then told me it made him uncomfortable and he thought it was “slutty” to be so friendly with a stranger. It took one more “honey” for Mike to end the date and leave.
He left. He told me I was flirting with other men while on a date and it was disgusting. He paid for our drinks, told the waiter to get my number and he left. I sat there in shock, unable to wrap my head around what had happened. The waiter was also in shock and all we could was laugh.
The lovely waiter let me know that if her were not gay and in a loving relationship, he totally would have asked me for my number. Bless him. It was a horrible date with a horrible guy and the best part is that he sent me an email a day later to see if I hooked up with the waiter. Loser.
I was so grossed out that in my sad search for my own George Clooney/Mark Kelly man, I lost my mind for a minute. I was driving on Western Avenue in Los Angeles and a man in a truck needed to cut in front of me to make a left. He honked to get my attention so I could let him in.
He honked, I looked up, opened my window and there he was. He looked like Brad Pitt, John Stamos and Michael Chiklis had a baby. Gorgeous. He looked enough like my type that I thought he was delicious, but not enough like my ex’s that looking at him made me want to vomit.
He asked if he could go ahead, I smiled, twisted my hair and said sure. He waved, said thanks, pulled in front and made a left onto Santa Monica Blvd. In a split second decision, I decided to follow him. He was too handsome for me to just let him get away.
I followed him for a few blocks. So sad. Eventually I pulled up next to him and honked. He opened his window, and I asked it I could talk to him. He said ok and pulled into the mini mall on the next corner. At this point I’m mortified by what I’ve done but it’s too late now.
He gets out of his truck, I get out of my car, and there we are. I tell him, in one breath, that I think he is gorgeous, I just went out with a loser, I cannot meet a nice man, and if he is not married or in a relationship, we should go out for diner. He just stood there, staring at me.
There was a second too long of a pause so I continued on. I told him I was funny, smart, a great cook, a wonderful mother and a catch. I then did a spin and said this is it. This is my body, this is my personality, and if it was of any comfort, he was the only person I ever followed to get a date.
He smiled, leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, said he was not married, had been out of a relationship for 4 months and he thought I was fabulous. He then gave me his card and asked if I was free on Thursday night. I gave him my card, accepted the invitation, and left.
As I drove off I was quite proud of myself, yet totally scared. I called him and when he answered I almost hung up. I said it was me, and just wanted to make sure he was not a killer or sex offender or any of those things you should probably know about someone before you follow them.
He assured me he was none of those things and not to worry. I thanked him, said goodbye and went to work. He called later in the day to say hello and make sure I was not kicking myself for my bold move. I told him I was mortified, but looking forward to seeing him on Thursday.
We chatted last night and he offered me his social security number so I could run a background check. He is quite funny, insanely attractive and seems like just a regular blue color kind of guy. I don’t know what he does for a living, or what his faith is, and at this point it does not matter.
He could be Jewish, or not. He could be an astronaut, or not. He inspired me to be bold and take a risk and for that I am grateful. Life is meant to be lived, not observed, and so it’s all good. Perhaps he will be a perfect mix of George Clooney and Mark Kelly so I’m keeping the faith.
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